Short Stories in a Galaxy Far, Far Away
by DarthRuinous
Summary: An ongoing and wide-ranging series of short stories, created from challenges and compiled here. Both Legends/Canon and AU possibilities.
1. Kill Me: Kit Fisto

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See the notes at the end for information on this series, and enjoy!

 **Short Story Challenge: Palpatine and Kit Fisto**

 **Theme: Kill Me**

 **Verse: Movie/Novelization of Revenge of the Sith**

 **Timeframe: Shortly after Vader leaves for the Jedi Temple and Order 66 has been given**

The small room lies in silent testimony to the immense changes that have transpired here. I drift aimlessly, overcome with the power that permeates my existence, the exuberance that threatens to uncoil the beast buried in my shadowed chest. I have tucked him away again, always mindful of my surroundings, for I know my truth will not be accepted by the vaunted Senate if it displays my current visage. Only when I wore the face of dear, kind Palpatine was the beast able to roam freely amongst its victims.

However, soon there will be no need for the approval of that august and nearly obsolete body. Order 66 has been set into motion, and none can stop it. Soon, I will be completely free and the vengeance of my Order complete. A long, low chuckle drips from my impatient lips as I consider this, as I dare to dream of all that will be mine.

In due time.

I have waited decades, and so another year or two shall make little difference. My foot bumps into a broken lump of flesh on the floor, luring a glance downward: ah yes, one of the Jedi masters who came to face his death here in my parlor. I kneel beside the headless and curled form, curious and strangely drawn to the echo of energy that still hovers in the Force. Disgusting light tinged with despair, with the hollowed recognition of false friends and shattered dreams.

Determination too, which, though admirable, came far too late to prove effective. The body rolls easily in my grip, and I see the moist green hands, one still curled lax around the handle of its lightsaber, a blade that once glowed green with all the foolish hopes of its wielder.

Master Kit Fisto, an absurd amphibian of a Jedi with a smile that constantly spoke of some hidden jest, of some humorous end that only he could foresee. The bloody swirl of the desperate struggle returns to my mind, swamping me in a delicious and heady blend of images, and I remember the turning point of his destiny. Crimson soaks the edges of my vision as I recall the moment, the sharp lateral swing, the spraying blood and bone, the shock in the dying lidless eyes.

I rise again and note that the eyes still stare blankly from where they perch atop the ebonite desk, set into the severed head whose glabrous tentacles drape down the front of my private console. The gentle smile has curved in final repose across his frozen features.

A soft sigh of contentment escapes me, and I ease into the chair behind the desk. Real. This moment is real and true and right at last. The galaxy will have much to be grateful for this evening. My slender fingers stretch out, almost of their own accord, latching gently into the tangle of head-tresses and turning the face to my own.

Which of us looks more the dead, I wonder with a faint and caustic twist of ire. But then, looks don't matter. I have ever been the pragmatist in these situations. He _is_ dead, and I am alive, to be so for as long as I shall desire. And in the travailing birth of my empire, all of my enemies will join him in his oblivion.

I release my grip on the alien's tresses, watch the head settle into the pool of drying life-blood with a soft squelch of protest. I suppose I should clean this mess up before too long, before my loyal constituents take notice and invoke unsavory questions that I prefer not to answer.

Instead, I linger for a few moments longer.

After all, Jedi are not without number. Eventually, I shall never stand watch over another Jedi corpse again. Eventually, they shall all pass into their Netherworld, their weak wills submitting to the overwhelming power of the Force. I might not have many more chances to enjoy this sight, or these emotions that ravage me with a dark and terrible joy. Such maudlin sentimentality, I know.

But this is my finest hour, and all the galaxy my stage.

I study the expression on his cold face and come to a decision. I detested Kit Fisto less than some of the others, perhaps because I wielded a secretive smile of my own. My grand jest just happened to play out at the expense of the entire Jedi Order. He understood the joke, in the end.

And so I share that smile with him now.

 **Writing Palpatine in third person is creepy enough, so why put myself through first person? Because it's so much fun! (That sounded better when I was thinking to myself…) and why does my version of Palpatine enjoy holding one-sided conversations with dead things…?**

 **This drabble came about as the result of a unique challenge from some friends who shared it from a website with me. To try to get myself back into writing on a semi-regular basis, I thought I would open this up to anyone interested. Look at the list below, pick a theme and a Star Wars character that you want to see interact with ol' Sheev, include it in your review, and I'll do my best to fulfill your wish. Hopefully things won't get too wild or wacky, but they could get pretty radically AU.**

Leave an " **Amuse Me** " in your review, and I will write a short story about my character trying to cheer yours up, or vice versa (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Break Me** " in your review, and I will write an angsty short story about our characters (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Call Me** " in your review, and I will write a short story about my character asking for yours _(_ _be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify)._

Leave a " **Drink Me** " in your review, and I will write a short story about my character taking drinking with yours. (specify if you want).

Leave an " **Enamor Me** " in your review, and I will write a short story about my character admiring yours or vice versa _(_ _feel free to specify)_ _._

Leave a " **Fight Me** " in your review, and I will write a short story out my character fighting with/or against yours. (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Get Me** " in your review, and I will write a short story about my character saving yours or vice versa. (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Haunt Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character watching over yours or vice versa _[as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise, feel free to specify_ _.]_

Leave an " **Invite Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character asking your character to … (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Join Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character giving your character an offer _[_ _be it a proposal for an alliance, asking them to join them in an activity, feel free to specify._ _]_

Leave a " **Kill Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character killing yours or vice versa. (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Lure Me"** in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character tricking/trapping yours, or vice versa. (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Mourn Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character mourning your character's death. (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Nurse Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character caring for/healing yours or vice versa. (specify if you want).

Leave an " **Offer Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character giving yours a gift, or vice versa. (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Persuade Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character convincing yours, or vice versa (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Quiet Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character trying to calm yours down or vice versa _[_ _be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify_ _.]_

Leave a " **Remember Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character trying to get yours to remember them or vice versa _[be it from an accident, meeting them after years apart, feel free to specify_ _.]_

Leave a " **Spring Me** " in your review, and I'll write about my character getting yours out of a tough situation, or vice versa (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Tell Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character confessing something to yours or vice versa _[_ _be it a love confession, a secret, feel free to specify_ _.]_

Leave an " **Unbind Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines _[_ _be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse, feel free to specify_ _.]_

Leave a " **Value Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about my character telling yours how they feel about them. (specify if you want).

Leave a " **Work with Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about our characters taking on a challenge or task together. (specify if you want).

Leave an " **X Me** " in your review, and I will write a short story that you wish. (specify).

Leave a " **Yahoo Me** " in your review, and I'll write a short story about our characters celebrating something [ _feel free to specify_ _.]_


	2. Haunt Me: Leia Organa

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For the excellent RKB:

 **Drabble Challenge: Palpatine/Leia Organa**

 **Theme: Haunt Me**

 **Verse: Movies/Legends/EU**

 **Timeframe: 9 BBY**

In the occasional suffocating boredom that descended on him when his Empire ran itself with gratifying efficiency, and when the petty simpering fools that filled his courts no longer held his fleeting interest, he considered informing Lord Vader.

The words would be so easy.

 _She lived long enough, my friend._

He imagined the sudden stiffness in the Dark Lord's shoulders, the abrupt ignition of hope, but of the darkest nature. He smiled to think of the treacherous thoughts that would invade his apprentice's mind, the renewed dream of a dynasty that had never come to pass thanks to the lava of Mustafar.

 _There is another Skywalker._

And what a Skywalker she was! Introduced formally in his court almost four years ago, her innate fire burned him with its intensity, and he only wanted to draw closer, like an insect drawn to an open flame. Many years had passed since he felt such a strong presence in the Force, so willing to give in to the whispers of the Dark Side when righteously enraged. And he had waited so long, patiently, endlessly, knowingly, a satisfied arachnid spinning the new web to entrap the expected prey.

She had inherited her father's temperament and her mother's political drive, which made her an amusing diversion. Already she sought to change the plight of the galaxy with her wells of compassion and the funds from her surrogate parents. Alderaan had ever been drawn to the sentimental gratification of refugee relief movements.

Sickening, really.

When her wretched mother passed on, the body fell into the hands of the morticians of Naboo, hands into which he poured credits and promises. Nothing occurred on Naboo that did not reach his ears. The autopsy revealed the deception to him alone, that the swollen abdomen no longer contained its burden. Careful – and thorough – questioning by his agents led them to the remote and shattered planetoid of Polis Massa.

The little expressionless natives bowed quickly to his will, and to his delighted surprise, he had learned of twins.

 _Twins_.

As if the Force itself sought to please him. A gift worthy for an emperor, to be sure.

Initially, he had thought to strike hard and fast, to seek and destroy the little seeds of Anakin Skywalker's madness before they could move against him, but he thought better of that idea soon enough. Lord Vader remained competent to carry out his wishes, to enforce his pleasures, but he was no longer even half the man he had once been.

And all apprentices eventually reached the end of their usefulness. Before Mustafar, Anakin Skywalker might have been different, might have broken the chain of dead and dying apprentices and become a true and lasting Sith Lord, to join him in the eternal power of the darkness, but now he would only join that long and distinguished line.

Lord Vader had a deadline.

It might take months, or years, or decades. But he would weaken or grow discontent with his lot in life, and his master would be forced to put him down like the rabid animal he was. Already he showed signs of his impending destiny, such as his protests on Ryloth some six years previously.

He sighed, brushing his thin hand against the arm of his throne, tapping gently along the cool edge. The girl and the boy showed promise in equal measure from the reports of his expansive network, but the girl displayed much more purpose. She would make a mighty apprentice someday. _Or perhaps both of them,_ andhe briefly entertained the vision that lurked along the edges of his dark sight.

And so he let them live, protecting them even from his own hapless apprentice. They lived lives as natural as any other, unaware of their inherent power and tragic past. The boy resided now with a relative of Anakin Skywalker, on the dim backwater planet Tatooine. His worst threat would come from mindless Tusken Raiders and thrifty Jawas, and there he would stew in self-pitying discontent until the proper time.

He had always scoffed at the Jedi's habit of taking younglings for their padawans. A proper apprentice required marination in all the emotions and experiences of life. Besides, he had no patience for young and untried minds. Dull things. He had barely stomached the whimpers of the Chosen One in the last days of the Republic.

This was the reason he considered taking her under his wing before the boy. She already glowed with compassion and anger and drive. She had already seen death in its unwavering glory as she held the hands of diseased and dying migrants seeking asylum on Alderaan. She already knew the heights of fear and the depths of despair.

In years, they may have been twins, but she was far older.

He watched her often from afar. When it pleased him, he ensured that her efforts flourished, and when she began showing interest in the dissent of her traitorous parents, he subtly encouraged her. Not even his closest agents knew the extent of his designs on the young princess. Disillusionment was the first great step to his side, and only three years ago she had been expelled from the Collegium for Young Ladies for behavioral concerns.

 _Staging a sit-in at seven. Impressive._

And all the time Lord Vader stalked the cold galaxy, unaware that his daughter resided with the old friends of his dead wife, growing daily in power and experience, growing to despise her sire and all he represented.

He wanted to tell him. He wanted to see the ancient fire of the Sith Lords flare in the husk of Anakin Skywalker before he stamped it out and replaced it with the new sparks of his progeny.

He had foreseen just such a moment, and it brought a gentle smile to his broken visage.

But for now, he held his peace.

And watched.

And waited.

And knew.

 **Counting your chickens before they hatch, Sheev? Your hubris is showing. Hm, this is one of the few times I've written Palpatine when he was actually full-Emperor. I figured with all his spies, and especially his connections with Naboo, he had to have known about the kiddos. I'm of the belief that he was, essentially, storing them away for a time when he would need a new apprentice(s). After all, he let Anakin Skywalker grow up right under the noses of the Jedi Council. He just keeps underestimating the power of that blasted Light Side of the Force, and love, and nice things…**

 **Anyway, apologies for any typos found within. I hope you all enjoyed it! I'm certainly enjoying your ideas and suggestions.**


	3. Unbind Me: Jabba the Hutt

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 **Written for a good friend who evidently likes to creep me out. Writing Jabba is inherently creepy. Maybe now she'll stop asking… : )**

 **Drabble Challenge: Palpatine/Jabba the Hutt**

 **Theme: Unbind Me**

 **Verse: Movies/Clone Wars/Legends EU/Possibly AU/Possibly Not**

 **Timeframe: During the Clone Wars**

Ysalamir. He detested them, loathed them with all of his being. It may have had something to do with the fact that he was strung along a wall between three of the softly purring balls of fur, which reduced his connection to the Force to a disturbing level of nothingness.

He'd been alone before. Plagueis continually tested him. Companions came and went, lovers swept into history, family swept from memory, but this was so much worse. This was the Void. Never had the darkness fled from his grasp before, avoided his touch as though he were some base sentient unaware of the power that coursed around him. He knew, how he knew, and yet he could not feel!

Could this be like what was rumored to await him and all Sith Lords in Chaos? Eternal impotence in the Force? That was not his destiny! He glared at the closest of the three small reptiles, desiring nothing more than to rip its tiny body into a thousand shreds. Once, a mere thought might have accomplished the deed.

How by Korriban had Jabba the Hutt managed to come by three of the fabled ysalamir, when all modern theory pointed to their dependence on their local environment for survival? Yet here they sat, curled over a curious tree whose branches overshadowed him in the roomy cell.

He cursed their existence, which rendered his physical form helpless. He cursed the circumstances that had brought him to this point, the unpredictable failure of his shuttle's hyperdrive in route along the Hydian Way, the powerful gas that overwhelmed him, his guards, and the four Jedi accompanying him on his mission of peace and good will, probably all dead, the long night and day that saw him here to this underground complex on a dusted planet of ill repute.

Tatooine.

Playground of the illustrious Jabba the Hutt, crime lord of the centuries.

This was such a series of mishaps that he laughed out loud, high-pitched and faintly unhinged. His long-term plans did not lay in complete jeopardy yet, but without the Force to guide him, to whisper in his ear, he was blind to further developments. Ironically, only his mortal enemies might save him now, which no doubt they now traversed the stars in desperate attempts to recover their beloved leader.

He thought of Anakin's panic and smiled in spite of the situation. The boy's loyalty was admirable and incredibly useful in tight spots.

A deep rumble across the room wiped the smile away. Deeper yet, a voice rolled in unctuous Huttese, "Well, how do you like your new quarters, your Excellency?"

He pushed aside the instinctive disgust, summoned all the anger and righteous indignation of his post and demanded in Basic, "What is the meaning of this? You must let me go, at once!"

Jabba Desilijic Tiure oozed his bulk forward from the edge of the shadows, for it was the crime lord himself, come down from on high to visit his distinguished guest. Jabba's wide face split in a toothless grin, the slug slipping to a stop directly in front of his suspended prisoner. "Come, Chancellor, we both know you speak my people's language. Dar Wac was very generous when we organized your profile together."

He was left momentarily speechless. Dar Wac, a traitor? There was no reason…He had never sensed anything from the assistant, and he realized now that Jabba meant only to unsettle him. His fluency in the harsh language could be determined from many alternate sources. He repeated his demand in Jabba's tongue, and was rewarded with another deep laugh.

"I think not, Chancellor. You see, you are a prize that comes about once in a generation, perhaps more. I would be foolish to release you now, when you would only return with the Republic at your back to destroy me." Jabba looked up at him, perverse delight in the massive, sickly eyes. "There are others who would be far more grateful if I turned you over to them."

Wouldn't Dooku be amused by that? He would never live it down, at least until the moment Anakin Skywalker removed the old man's snickering head from his shoulders.

The Hutt switched to his coarse version of Basic. "You dropped out of the sky like a gift to my raiders," Jabba mused, his voice filling and shaking the room with its deep timbre. "But I think you are actually a gift to me from the fates."

His anger bubbled closely under the surface, and he barely resisted the urge to spit in the obese crime lord's repulsive face. "Keeping the Chancellor of the Republic prisoner would be the far worse mistake, Jabba," he snarled softly. "Do you think the Republic will suffer your existence once they learn what you intend to do? Release me now and we may yet accomplish an agreement that satisfies our mutual desires."

Jabba's tongue flickered out, tasting the air, curling across his lower lip. "Desires?" the slug hissed.

Confused and irritated by his perplexed state, he shrugged as best he could, feeling the strain in his shoulders. "I assume you desire monetary funds, Jabba, or even sectorial control over some backwater planet you've had your eye upon, assistance with one of your wayward relatives? We can make arrangements, if need be."

Jabba did not appear to hear his words. "I think you will want to hear me out."

He stared down, uncomprehending. This wretched slime understood nothing, no grand plan, saw only what his dull, alien eyes could grasp, what his loathsome fingers and body could enjoy. A hedonistic fool. "I don't believe you fully appreciate the nature of my offer, Jabba-"

"And you don't understand the nature of mine," Jabba drawled, watching his hateful gaze with pleasure. "But you will."

He calmed his breath, steeled himself to the coming debate, the strings that Jabba would want pulled for his crime syndicate, the blackmail that was sure to follow. He was ready for all of these things, but not what came next.

Jabba moved so close that his rancid breath filled his senses with each rasping puff. One of the slug's short arms snapped out, meaty fist wrapping itself around the high collar and his slender neck. The pressure began softly, nothing more than a whisper of deadly intent.

"My offer, Chancellor," Jabba thrummed, "is nothing less than your life. You hold no power over me, and you never have. My empire stretches farther than your laughable Republic could ever dream of doing." His fingers began to slowly constrict around the human's throat.

He forced the uneasy panic below the surface of his glacial hatred, the imprint of the slug's fingers bringing the fire of an earlier choke to mind, the seething resentment that still boiled against his late teacher. He could not quite control his instinct to pull at the chains, to protect himself. The chains mocked his efforts with a hard rattle.

Jabba grinned, tightening his grip further. "Yes, you see how it is. You are in my hands, both literally and figuratively. By holding you, I hold the Republic. You would be wise not to resist."

The absolute disdain that shone from his eyes momentarily silenced the massive alien. "I may have finally found someone with a bigger ego than myself," he grated out defiantly, caught himself on a soft wheeze as those odious fingers flexed roughly.

The crime lord guffawed. "My ego is large for a reason, Chancellor. Unlike you, I have real power."

The thought smacked of madness and insanity, and ysalamir aside, the gasping hiss that ripped from his lips was enough to make even Jabba briefly recoil. "You have no _concept_ of power, wretch. You see only illusions of grandeur, wisps of your own bloated sense of self-importance. You are nothing to me. _Nothing_."

The fingers released him, and the blow of Jabba's backhand caught him high across his left cheekbone and left him dangling in the chains for a brief, disorienting moment. But even then, he knew the reason for Jabba's response, the natural reaction of a frightened being. A lashing out against the apex predator.

Before the devouring.

Jabba silently studied him, large eyes narrowing with anger and a hint of unease. His chuckle was not completely authentic. "I like your confidence, Chancellor, but that mouth will get you in trouble. I now see why the masses of the galaxy look to you for deliverance. You have a hidden durasteel that I can admire. I can work with that. I offer you your life, Chancellor, and in return I will ask for just a little."

He lifted his head and met the slug's crimson eyes. Permafrost blue flickered with the molten gold of his utter disdain. "And I offer you yours, Jabba. I suggest you take my offer seriously, as I do not offer such a thing twice. Release me, and you may continue your miserable existence in this galaxy. You may play with your toys and your spices and your gambling palaces. When I come into my own, you will be safe from my wrath."

Jabba considered him thoughtfully. "And if I refuse?"

He felt the calmness drape over his soul, the still, small voice that had whispered in his core since his birth, and he smiled benevolently. "Then I will come for you, and you will not know the time of your reckoning, Jabba." The right side of his mouth quirked further upwards. "After all, I still have uses for you. But when I descend, you will know only the futility of your existence. You will know only the certainty of death. And I promise no easy death, either. Everything and everyone you hold dear will no longer be, and you will watch before you join them."

"Rather grandiose, but I believe you," Jabba spoke softly, his wide face reflecting an unusual amount of open calculation. "Or rather, I believe that you would, if you were free to act."

He moved away, circling slowly around the cell's edges, stroking his chin with his stubby fingers. "I wanted to see you for myself. You know how holograms just don't do us justice. I needed to see if you…" He paused and rephrased himself. "I have long suspected that you wield a darkness in yourself that the Republic would be dismayed to discover. I think we might be kindred spirits."

"You know nothing, Crime Lord," he scowled.

Jabba abruptly oozed closer, using his mass to trap the human's much smaller body against the cool stone wall. The closeness of the Hutt galled him, and he struggled to keep a wave of revulsion from his face, to keep himself centered in the cold comfort of empty darkness. Above them, the ysalamir hummed softly in concern, the Force silent in its condemnation. "I know one thing, Chancellor," Jabba crooned. "I know power, and I know how to crave it. You have power. Perhaps you even _are_ power. There's something about you that is very different from all the Chancellors who have come before. I see now that you cannot be purchased so cheaply as I might have hoped."

"Then we understand each other in this?" he glared, their faces only centimeters apart, his teeth bared in a facsimile of a smile. The slug would fold eventually, some spark of intelligence would show itself.

Jabba grinned back. "You noticed the ysalamir in this room, Chancellor? Perhaps you think I have them here to prevent a glorious Jedi rescue of your person?"

The response was automatic denial, born of decades of practice. "What are you blathering about?"

"Secrets are always difficult to keep, Chancellor. Since the first time I met you, you reminded me of a Muun I once knew very well. I think the two of you had many things in common. Many. Things." Jabba paused, licked his lips. "Do we understand each other in this?" he threw the words back with obvious relish.

Well. This was somewhat unexpected. He felt his eyes narrowing with rage, shoved it down with cold control. His voice turned guttural as he allowed, "Perhaps."

"I like to keep track of my secrets, Chancellor," Jabba smirked. "I have many, and just as many ways of making those secrets surface to the right people if something untoward should happen."

"Do you now?" He purred back, refusing to be intimidated by Jabba's proximity. "Fascinating…"

"Mock me if you must," Jabba sighed. "Only the fates will determine our destinies, Chancellor. I, for one, see this as the potential start of a beautiful friendship." He reached out and gently seized the human's jaw in one hand, holding him steady, searching the pale depths of his frigid glare. "If only we had more time, what I might discover about you, and you about me. Ahhmmm… So very few things catch my attention these days. This doesn't need to be unpleasant."

He let Jabba's death gleam from his eyes. "You don't know the meaning of that word."

"And you would like to show me?" Jabba rumbled, amused. "Might be fun…"

He swallowed the bile that crawled up his throat. "Not for you."

Even Jabba could not ignore the deadly promise in those soft words. He released his captive, shifting back and gesturing grandly, "Now. I shall consider your offer, and you should consider mine. I think there is an opportunity here for both of us. Don't try anything foolish, Chancellor. Power or not, you are in my hands right now. Secrets should stay secrets, yes?"

"For both our sakes," he reminded the Hutt darkly.

"You will have my answer soon," Jabba assured. The slug trailed out of the cell, leaving behind a string of putrid slime on the floor. Several blunt-nosed Gamorreans reentered the cell and stood post at the door, large vibroaxes gleaming in the light. He watched them closely under half-closed lids.

He was patient. Gathering Jabba's databases of information might require decades of work from his agents, but he would eventually corner every contingency. Then the slug would regret the day he had been birthed into the galaxy, and every day he had lived since. Centuries in the pit stomach of a Sarlaac would pale in comparison to the future Jabba courted.

He did not require the Force to foresee it.

oooooooooooooooo

The light from the cell's single window was entering its last dim phase when one of the ysalamir keened softly and dropped from its perch, curling in death throes on the sandy floor, a small silver dart lodged deep in its furry throat.

The turmoil in the Force brought his head up in alarm as one after another, the remaining two ysalamir dropped to the hard ground. The Force surged back into his consciousness, and he greedily sucked it in, much as a man who discovers an oasis in a vast desert soaks in the life-giving water. The sensation was enough to leave him gasping for breath, weak as a newborn babe in the glory of the Dark Side.

A dark figure stalked to his side, stretching up with a wrist-mounted circular razorsaw and severing the chains that held him. He collapsed bonelessly, riding the currents of the Force and re-centering himself in its sweet embrace. When he opened his eyes again, Cad Bane grinned down at him, extending one long-fingered blue hand.

"We meet again, Chancellor," he growled cheerfully with a tip of his outlandish hat. "Rescuing instead of kidnapping, what a crazy galaxy, huh?"

"Cad Bane?" he gasped out, momentarily confused. Within the Force, everything was suddenly, wondrously alive again, waiting for him, calling for his endless hunger. The bounty hunter before him was merely an insect in his reborn eyes, and it required great effort to focus in the here and now. "The Jedi hired you?"

"Hardly," Bane scoffed, reaching down and pulling him to his feet. "'His Illustrious Excellency Jabba the Hutt sends his felicitations and hopes that you will remember your discussion in the aftermath of your daring escape.' Word for word, that was. Flowery old slug, isn't he?"

He stared far beyond Bane into the roiling and tumultuous future. "So, he made his choice then. Wise of him." But ultimately fruitless, for the crime lord would eventually be devoured just like every insignificant creature that encountered him. By cooperating, he only delayed the inevitable.

Bane shrugged. "I ain't pretending to know what you're talking about, and you're creeping me out a bit, so let's just get moving before someone notices."

"Of course," he rubbed his hands together, feeling the crackle of energy passing between his fingers. "Lead the way, my friend. I'll do my best to keep up."

Bane snorted. "I don't get paid enough for this," but he ducked out the door of the cell, blasters out and up, and his companion followed in silence, his thoughts lightyears away, his balance restored, his dark peace assured.

Jabba had made his pact with Chaos, and someday, It would return to collect.

 **I've been working on this one for a while for one of the people responsible for this story collection. Jabba…yeck…probably my least-liked character of Star Wars, but you have to give the old slug some credit for being highly intelligent. No one stays at the top of a crime ring like his without having the ability to brilliantly maneuver and bargain. I loved how he was portrayed in Darth Plagueis. But so much slime, literally and figuratively…Poor Palpatine's going to need therapy after that one. Sorry, Sheev.**

 **Apologies for any typos found within. Hope you enjoyed! Leave a review!**


	4. Nurse Me: Anakin Skywalker

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For the estimable JACK NAIPER:

 **Drabble Challenge: Palpatine/Anakin Skywalker**

 **Theme: Nurse Me**

 **Verse: Movies/Clone Wars/Legends/EU**

 **Timeframe: During the Clone Wars, 21 BBY**

Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker had been uncomfortable with the idea for weeks, ever since he learned of the Chancellor's plans to attend a goodwill ceremony with the loyalist leaders of the Corporate Sector Authority, a small and elite band known as the Galactic Corporate Policy League. The ceremony was to be held on the fairly isolated world of Matra VI, known for its industrial manufacturing and located in one of the rare secure regions of the Corporate Sector that sympathized with the Republic.

More than that, Anakin resented the League's blatant leniency toward anti-government groups and slavery factions in the Outer Rim. When he finally blurted that out in front of Palpatine two evenings before their departure, the older man regarded him with pensive understanding. "Anakin, just because one allies with a group such as that, does not mean one has to endure their shortcomings forever. Once we have established a loyal Republican base, then the outdated visions of a few zealots will cease to matter."

"Yes, Chancellor, but I still don't like working alongside them."

Palpatine came around the desk, clapping his hand to Anakin's shoulder sympathetically. "In politics, Anakin, in fact – in life, we must often work with individuals and organizations with whom we may strongly disagree… We merely bide our time, Anakin, and wait for an opportune moment."

Anakin sighed. "I wish I had your patience, Sir. Even Ahsoka seems to have more than me these days."

Palpatine raised one eyebrow at the mention of his apprentice. "She'll be all right then, on her own?"

Anakin snorted and shrugged. "She's more than all right. Snips – I mean, Padawan Tano has a lot of natural talent. Master Plo Koon is taking her to Alderaan to assist with the refugee relief program while we're gone, and some of the other Padawans are going as well."

"I'm glad," Palpatine said simply. He turned back to his desk, reaching for the pale green decanter and pouring them both a small Corellian brandy. He handed one to Anakin and held his own at eye level. "To the mission then," he offered cheerfully. "And young Baron Tagge's new factory."

Anakin raised his own glass, taking a brief and absurd pleasure in imagining Master Windu's disapproving face as he downed the glass in one long swallow.

ooooooooooooooooooo

The day had started so well, with the seventeen-year-old Baron Tagge joining them for breakfast on Palpatine's flagship in orbit around Matra VI.

He had relished in Anakin's obvious jealousy when he complimented the intelligence and hard work of the young baron. Already, the Chosen One was his. The party had then descended to the industrial planet's patchwork surface, landing at the site of the future Tagge Service Factory, which would produce new affordable and efficient assistance droids for the citizens of the Republic who were struggling to make ends meet due to the war. War widows and all that drivel…

"We do all we can for the war effort," Orman Tagge had waved away the compliments, and behind them, Anakin's scowl deepened.

The christening went off without a hitch in their plans. The workers' roars echoing in his ears, Palpatine had turned to share a quiet word with his Jedi protector when the whole sector went straight to Chaos.

It began with a massive explosion far south of the central platform, which rattled every window, tooth, and mandible for kilometers. The subsequent shockwave sent most of the crowd and dignitaries flailing to the ground in terror. As the smoke rolled across the distant side of the plaza, Palpatine felt Anakin seize his arm and shove him behind, lightsaber already out and activated.

"Anakin, look there," Palpatine hissed, pointing at the tall edge of the new factory, and Anakin saw it. A tattered black flag, the stark white lettering of the Mechanical Liberation Front clearly visible.

"Great," Anakin groaned. "Crazy activists were NOT what I had in mind for this trip. Chancellor, we need to evacuate you down Route 2. I'm not taking us back the way we came."

"Of course." He also had little time for self-important fanatics, and his guards closed in tight around him to escort him away from the platform, but their efforts soon proved useless. From the direction of Evacuation Route 2 came a second explosion, smaller and accompanied by the sharp retorts of repeating blasters.

"I've got a bad feeling about that," Anakin growled. Nearly a dozen terrorists poured from the hazy, winding alleyway, their weapons blazing into the panicked crowd. "Get down, Chancellor!"

He had little choice in the matter, as his bodyguards flattened him to the platform, throwing their bodies over him as the bolts flew closer. One guard on the far left abruptly choked and dropped, dead before his head cracked against the smooth stone. Anakin deflected several more shots back into the mass of terrorists, but they only dispersed into the bystanders, forcing him to abandon his reflections.

From the source of the original explosion, Palpatine could hear multiple shots fired, and he knew then that the terrorists had formed at least two cell groups, possibly more.

"You know those opportune moments you always talk about?" Anakin grunted as he deflected another laser bolt from the left. "Well, this isn't one of them!"

Palpatine peered up at the Jedi from under the pile of his protective unit. His guards seemed determined to suffocate him if the terrorists did not finish him first. He ignored Anakin's sarcastic remark about opportune moments and instead called out over the screams, "Anakin, I think we should get out of here!"

"You think?" The young Jedi smirked darkly and backed up to be closer to his charge. "I'd like to, but getting you up would expose you to their snipers, Chancellor. Commander Sharp should be here soon with the ships, and we'll get out of here."

Palpatine felt his mouth twitch as he watched the terrorists moving their direction. "Soon may not be soon enough, my friend."

"It'll have to – "

The explosion's focal point developed just under the main podium of the platform, the slow-motion force of energy tearing up through the granite like a knife's blade through the tender flesh of a shurra fruit. The largest of the rock fragments slammed into Anakin and sent him down hard, his body thudding against the platform. The bodies of the guards over Palpatine were riddled with rock shards and grenade shrapnel, blown away from him like leaves before the wind.

He held to his place by the instinctual power of the Dark Side, and his low placement protected him from the worst of the blast. Ears ringing, Palpatine eased himself forward until he lay at Anakin's smoking side. He patted out the sputtering flames eating at the end of the Jedi's cloak. His eyes scanned the panicking crowds. Bodies lay scattered here and there, limbs, puddles of dark and viscous fluids. Interspersed through the once-benign audience, the MLF agents continued their tirade of madness, firing blasters into the air and soft-bodied sentients with equal fervor.

At the far end of the industrial plaza, he spotted the faint white lines of Republican troops. A troop transport was settling on the opposite end, drawing a hot and masking fire from the extremists. Palpatine lifted to his hands and knees to get a better look, found himself crouching protectively over Anakin's still form, didn't think about it.

Behind him, a guard screamed, and Palpatine spun tightly to regard the new danger. He watched the collapsing flow of blooded robes, the smoke rising from a gaping hole in the guard's brutalized torso. Beyond the guard, a hulking MLF agent lowered his blaster and laughed, barely visible through the reddish haze.

Perhaps the wretch could be reasoned wi –

Palpatine winced as the large, masked, multi-limbed abomination caught up with one of the struggling guards several meters away and neatly separated his head from his shoulders with his vibroblade, lifting the prize high in a spray of blood, the alien caught in a frenzy of violent emotions that threatened Palpatine's own tight control on the darkness bubbling in his chest. Negotiation was not an option, then.

"By Korriban…" he muttered a low curse, and reached down and grabbed Anakin up by both arms, tugging his lanky form down the long flight of granite steps on the far side of the platform, out of sight of the marauding MLF agent. He used a judicious twist of the Dark Side to heave Anakin's bulk over the low stone wall at the bottom. The young Jedi landed with a splash in the deep drainage ditch on the other side.

Palpatine glanced back and locked eyes with the masked assailant, who was just coming over the rise of the platform. The alien shrieked and raised its blade high, running down the steps. The Dark Lord hissed in displeasure. Uncertain of the number of security cam droids still active on the location, he counted discretion the better part of valor and scrambled over the wall and down into the ditch beside Anakin. The fetid ooze sucked at his shiny boots as he dragged Anakin down the rounded half tunnel and away from the distant explosions and screams.

The air was quickly filling with smoke, even down here. Palpatine coughed harshly and peered at the narrow path. Up ahead something was gurgling, and the water (or whatever it was) seemed to be moving faster around them.

Behind him, the clang of a weapon sounded against stone. He turned and spotted the MLF activist, who had just entered the ditch. Two limbs now sported duel vibroblades, and the alien shouted in a guttural wail to his companions, "They're here!"

More shouts, and Palpatine began to feel uneasy. If he should fight and Anakin regained consciousness while he did…if a security camera caught him… The alien was advancing slowly, eyes gleaming in the dim light. Palpatine gripped his burden tighter and backed away. He sent a tendril of the Force slithering down the tunnel into the unknown blackness.

"Death to tyrants!" The near-human growled. "Freedom for the oppressed!" Behind him, the shouts grew more distinct.

Palpatine sensed the end of the dark tunnel ahead, and a long drop beyond. He fixed the terrorist with a sharp scowl. "Do try for something more original. If I received a credit every time someone called me a tyrant, I could fund your entire pathetic liberation front."

Perhaps he had said too much in haste. The terrorist howled in rage and lunged forward. The Dark Lord pulled Anakin into his arms and leapt back and down.

And down some more.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Palpatine estimated five sublevels at least, and he did not bother to hide the pride at his perfect landing. Here in the inky darkness of the drainage complex, where no natural light reached and artificial lights were few and far between, the Force surged to his expectant call. Anakin weighed no more than a feather in his augmented grasp, and he carried him into a side tunnel, littered with refuse and dimly lit by one sputtering pale bulb. A multitude of bony insects clicked helplessly against the glass. The floor shifted under a centimeter of stagnant groundwater.

The sounds from above had mostly faded away, but he could still make out the occasional shouts of the activists far overhead. They appeared unwilling to give up their pursuit, but also unprepared to descend to the depths or return to the surface where Republic enforcers awaited. His ears still ringing from the grenade's power, Palpatine propped the young Jedi against the wall of the tunnel and slid down beside him, breathing softly. How long would Commander Sharp need to restore order above? Before it was safe?

He glanced at Anakin. Glanced again.

And momentarily panicked at the sight of the red river oozing down the Jedi's chest.

 _How did I miss that!_

Now that he had a moment to think, Anakin looked very pale and altogether too still. A bluish tinge ran along the corners of his mouth and the ends of his fingers. Palpatine grabbed the younger man's wrist and noted with alarm the weak pulse.

Shock. Skywalker was going into shock.

He growled his frustration and noticed for the first time that his hands and arms were drenched in crimson. Berating himself, he pulled Anakin carefully away from the wall and laid him on his back on the damp floor. He lifted the Jedi's legs and propped the thick boots on top of a small, half-smashed, and rotting wooden box. Then he studied the wound.

A piece of shrapnel from the grenade had lodged itself just to the left and under the Jedi's collar bone, and a dark black ooze of blood still welled up and spilled over the jagged metal. If action was not taken soon, Anakin's life would be in jeopardy.

He hesitated.

 _Do it too long, or too early, and he'll know too soon. It will all be over._

He stretched out both hands to hover over Anakin. A massive risk…

 _Just bite the bolt and do it, or you won't have anything left to turn…_

He gritted his teeth.

 _He'll be gone, forever._

The thought jolted Palpatine more strongly than he expected. He leaned forward, placing his thin digits over the wound and drawing the Force to himself. It gathered as a dark storm over the Jedi's prone body, and for a moment he wondered if the unnatural light might resist his natural darkness. His fingertips brushed the bloody wound, and the midi-chlorians leapt to frenetic motion beneath.

Anakin's unconscious body curled and twisted under his grip as his midi-chlorians responded to Sidious's dark will, almost as though they longed for it, as though they had been born to follow his guidance. The Dark Lord marveled at the Force flowing from the dark Jedi, clashing into his own and latching on for life itself. He fed the suckling power gladly, freely, poured his own back into the priceless vessel beneath. Sinews knitted, jagged bones dulled and locked together, capillaries cauterizing…

 _All mine. Forever!_

He could feel his own breath quicken, his blood thinning and coursing faster through his buzzing veins, and yet the effort to heal the Chosen One came more naturally than he had ever experienced. Even his own midi-chlorians did not respond to his healing call like this! The resurgence of the Jedi's power became nearly overwhelming. The situation was euphoric, suspended in the Dark Side and endless, and he clutched tightly at his own self-control when a vision of the future descended on him without warning.

Fire. Lava.

Desperate healing, but too late… too late.

Suddenly alarmed, suddenly unsure, Sidious dropped back into the physical realm with a gasp, hands still pressed to the bloody wound in Anakin's chest, but the blood flowed no longer underneath. He lifted them over the younger man, sticky and warm, blankly studied the way the crimson fluid trickled limp from his fingers, drop after drop seeping into the dark fabric of the Jedi's robes.

The image sent him back. _I was a storm, Magister!_

Palpatine twitched, wrenched the image away, and centered himself in the present once again. Just in time, because then Skywalker was awake and coughing, doubling over with a low moan. The Chancellor snatched his hands back as if burned, brushing them against the watery floor in an effort to remove the telling stains.

Anakin blinked wearily up at the older man, confused. His mouth twisted in a sharp grimace, tasting the old air. "Hello, sir, mind filling me in?"

Palpatine rubbed his hands on his robes and offered quietly, "We took a slight detour. I hope you don't mind."

Anakin took his quietness into account and responded in kind, a low, pained whisper, "Well then, I guess I didn't miss much. Are we below?"

Palpatine nodded. "I sincerely hope I didn't hurt you too badly by dragging you, Anakin, but we had a rather upset activist in hot pursuit. They are still above us, though not for long, I imagine. Commander Sharp should soon have the situation well in hand."

Anakin chuckled roughly. "Sit tight then? I think I can handle that." He passed a trembling hand in front of his eyes. "Force, for a nanosecond I thought I was a goner there." He appeared to sense Palpatine's suddenness stillness, the sharp brightness in his pale eyes. He took it for concern. "Don't worry about me, sir. That was a close one, but I'll be all right. I always am." He tossed an easy grin at the politician, a flash of muddy teeth in the faint light.

The fierce knot in his chest suddenly eased, and Palpatine told himself the reason why: quite simply, Skywalker had not discovered his secret. His dark planning of decades remained firmly in place, and his universe would not be unmade.

Only that.

He lied to himself with the same ruthless efficiency that he used on the rest of the galaxy. The lie would hold him to his great and terrible purpose when Anakin went on future countless deadly missions. When the young man promised his lasting devotion. When Sidious remembered the lava from his vision. When he came upon the mortal remains smoking on the black rocks… still alive.

But all stars burn out eventually, in brilliant explosions, in dark husks scattered across the cosmos, or pulled into the event horizon and insatiable maw of a black hole.

For he remained to devour them all.

It was his destiny.

 **Palpatine-angst, not a pretty sight. Not a pretty sight at all. Snap out of it, Sheev. You'll still have half an apprentice! Ungrateful Sith…**

 **Palpatine and double-speak make such an enjoyable combination. Through the entire first section of the story, Anakin and Palpatine have rather different groups of zealots in mind.**

 **Anyway, I had fun writing this one. You earthlings have fantastic ideas. : ) Thanks for all the reviews and follows, and apologies for any typos found within.**


	5. Unbind Me II: Barriss Offee

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For the admirable Vialco:

 **Drabble Challenge: Palpatine/Barriss Offee**

 **Theme: Unbind Me**

 **Verse: Clone Wars/Legends/EU**

 **Timeframe: Shortly after the events of the Wrong Jedi arch, Clone Wars**

The drugs acted swiftly, sending her into a deep sleep that lasted either a minute or a thousand years, and then Barriss jerked awake with a soft cry and tumbled from the low edge of the couch. She landed with the precision of a trained Jedi, for that was still what she was, regardless of the nightmares in these last few months. Maybe she was the only true Jedi left, defending the galaxy from a horde of self-righteous charlatans. She chuckled bitterly.

"Are you all right?"

The low voice directly behind sent her into a quick spin, hands rising in the beginnings of a defensive stance, and then she dropped them, nearly choked on her surprise. "Chancellor! What are you doing here?"

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine smiled at her from behind his wide desk with the same benevolent expression he used on the countless trillions of the galaxy's residents. "The last time I checked, I was taking tea in my office," he lifted the cup of evidence in his left hand. "Care for some, my dear?"

Barriss relaxed her crouch and swept to her feet, glancing around. The room, spacious and draped in varying shades of deep crimson, reminded her greatly of the Supreme Chancellor's office on Coruscant, but subtle differences existed. A strange statue there, an elegant darkwood table there. She looked out the large window behind the Chancellor and studied the city street beyond. Unlike his ceremonial office, this complex appeared to be on ground level, surrounded by stately columned buildings of antiquity. "Where am I?" she asked, though she already had her suspicions.

"I welcome you to my humble apartments on Naboo," Palpatine said. "I thought our conversation might be more effective if we removed ourselves from the prying eyes of the capital."

She flexed her tired hands, confused. He sat perfectly still, his pale eyes bright with guarded interest as he watched her. Tentatively, Barriss reached into the Force and found his muted presence there, just like always, a mix of regal calmness and benign curiosity. He appeared to be alone; not a single guard stood in the room, and that thought put her teeth on edge.

"Why did you release me? I could kill you right now. Don't you know I'm a hardened criminal?" Barriss spat, but her words carried no true fight.

Palpatine appraised her openly and offered a thin-lipped smile. "Perhaps the opposite, actually. Perhaps you've merely been sensitized to the plight of the galaxy."

Barriss froze. "What do you mean by that?"

The politician tilted his head and regarded her in silence for a long moment, smile morphing into a pitying frown. Finally, he slid his steaming cup onto the desk and pushed up. Moving to the window, he turned his back to her. A low sigh escaped him. "Your efforts on Coruscant. Dare I say, they appeared as the actions of a being driven by her conscience, misguided as they were."

"Mis-misguided?" the dark anger threatened the edges of her vision. How easy it was, to fall back into that fiery embrace! She had accepted the Darkness in her own soul, and now it wanted to claim her once again.

Palatine turned toward her and arched one silver eyebrow in genteel disbelief. "You believed your attacks on the Temple would be successful?"

Barriss found that she could not meet his gaze, and she looked sharply away and muttered, "I did what I had to do. No one else would stand up against them."

"Ah," he nodded. "A statement. I hold to my earlier remark, then. You sought a solution to the stagnation that envelopes this entire galaxy. You were woefully shortsighted, though, if you even bothered to think about the future."

Barriss felt the Force whisper in alarm, but she could not see the reason why. The room remained quiet and empty of all but her and the Chancellor. "Why am I here?" she asked.

"Were you always so impatient, or was that lost when you turned from the Order?" he shot back gently, clasping his hands behind his back. "My reasons for bringing you here are many. Did you know that a vast number of Senators are demanding your head?"

"I could have figured that out," Barriss said. Her knees weakened, but she refused to sit back down.

"At the very least, most believe that you have earned a permanent residence in our stoutest prison," Palpatine drawled. "Some even call for the death penalty in your case, my dear."

"I'll gladly pay the price, if it shows them the hypocrisy that exists in the system," Barriss said, sounding far more courageous than she truly felt.

"And what a waste of talent that may be," he moved from the window then, stepping down the small incline into the main portion of the room and drifting closer to the nervous woman.

Barriss did not like the sudden cold chill that filled the room. Curling her arms protectively, she demanded, "What do you want with me?"

Palpatine appeared to weigh his thoughts, abruptly lifted one slender hand in her direction. "I'll come to the point. You and I share some common ground, Barriss Offee. Namely, the destruction of the Order that seeks to impose its corrupted will on the galaxy."

Barriss's breath exploded from her lungs in a short gasp. "What!"

He smiled, pleased with her reaction. "Radical, I know."

"How?" Barriss backed away from him until the small of her back collided with a firm chair. He did not follow, remained almost entirely still but for his eyes which tracked her as she moved. The Force screamed a new warning. Somehow, and she did not know, the Chancellor was becoming a threat to her in this moment.

"It is quite simple, I suppose," he mused quietly. "It is merely a matter of what I want, and I want them dead. Wiped out. Exterminated."

Barriss staggered, almost falling against the chair. "But you are the Supreme Chancellor! You work with them. You ally yourself with them!"

"The appearance is deceptive," he agreed.

Barriss cast her gaze around the room, searching for a suitable weapon. None presented itself. "That just isn't possible. Master Yoda would know if you were trying to deceive him. You meet with him almost daily."

His eyes sparkled with vindictive delight. "Enough to know his favorite tea. However, as your vaunted little Master has often noted and failed to prevent," and his voice went up and twisted in a sickeningly realistic parody of the Grand Master's voice, "'the shroud of the Dark Side has fallen. Clouds everything, it does.'"

In that moment, he dropped the shroud around his own presence, and Barriss could feel the cold waves of dark energy flowing from him in terrifying quantity. At last, she knew with horrible clarity. "Sith…Sith lord," she stammered. "You… no!"

She lunged forward, unknowing, uncaring except that she had to stop this here and now, all consequences aside. She made it two meters before an invisible power caught her up and slammed her into the firm carpeting at his feet. Barriss threw out her hand in a desperate Force push, and he cackled.

Cackled.

The sound chilled her to the bones, cutting at her confidence with ruthless efficiency. He looked down at her, one hand casually outstretched and fixing her in place. "You see, my dear, the galaxy is a mighty tree and the different planets and cultures her sundry fruits. In this case, one fruit has rotted from within – whatever the reason – and it must be ruthlessly plucked for the good of all others. I believe you understand this."

"No," Barriss wheezed. "They'll stop you…"

"The Jedi? A threat to me?" he appeared genuinely surprised, faintly derisive at the thought. "Perhaps they might have been, had they kept themselves from utter complacency…no, no, the Jedi are but one obstacle in my path to the complete subjugation of the Force."

"That's not possible," she gasped out.

He laughed. "You Jedi are so limited."

"And you are unnatural," she whispered. The pressure constricted painfully around her ribs.

"You are entitled to your opinion, of course. What you fail to realize is that such petty notions are beneath me. Natural, unnatural, good, evil," he shrugged and spread his hands. "What are these but empty ideals? You of all people know too well the dangers of creating dichotomy where none exists. You call out the Jedi Order for its hypocrisy, and yet you adhere to the same judgmental rhetoric."

"That's not true," Barriss snarled. "I've seen beyond the Jedi!"

He scoffed. "You dabble in fundamental truths too deep for your confused and frantic little brain. Be mindful, young one, else you be burned beyond recognition."

He raised his hand, and fire erupted under her skin. Barriss's throat tightened with a scream, but then it tightened from something else entirely. She could not breathe! Her fingers rose automatically to her neck to pry away the terrible grip, but nothing existed against her skin. She looked up and met his eyes, realizing to her everlasting horror that the golden gleam was no reflection of the light. Her limbs deadened, her body sank effortlessly to the floor. She watched, helpless, as he approached and circled her in a leisurely ellipse.

"My master dabbled in a wide variety of experiments in the Force," he told her conversationally. "He kept dozens of subjects on hand when the whim suited him to continue his studies. Naturally, he favored his Force-sensitive specimens."

Barriss felt her breath shorten with abject fear. "What are you saying?"

His lips twitched with the hint of a vicious smile. "I am saying that you need not fear your death from me. Not yet. I believe I have an opening that will suit you very well."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Poor Barriss, she didn't think that one through. I remember reading or hearing somewhere that her character was scheduled to die at the end of the Wrong Jedi arch, but Filoni kept her alive because he wasn't done with the character yet. More like Palpatine wasn't done, heheheh. Angry and embittered dark Jedi seem to be his forte. I've not watched the Rebels series yet, but I do wonder if she will make an appearance there. Anyway, apologies for any typos found within, and thanks for the suggestions and reviews; all is deeply appreciated!**


	6. Join Me: Dooku

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For the intrepid Warrior of Twilight:

 **Drabble Challenge: Palpatine/Count Dooku**

 **Theme: Join Me**

 **Verse: Movies/Clone Wars/Legends-EU**

 **Timeframe: Prior to Episode 2**

"You've finally come."

Dooku forced himself to the say the words with a calmness he did not truly feel.

His heart thumped once painfully against his aged chest before resuming its steady cadence. The reason for his apprehension stood somewhere behind him, and he wanted nothing more than to turn and ignite his blade. His instincts screamed to him, and the darkness threatened to suffocate him. He remained perfectly still, his back ramrod straight, silver hair gleaming in the dim light that filtered through the leaves overhead. The Count of Serenno did not cave to meager fear. Did not.

Serenno's forests were never peaceful, bustling as they did with a multitude of flora and fauna, but tonight the forest lay in complete silence. Not a single avian called to its mate. Not a single insect rubbed its legs together. Not even the rumble of the distant migrating herds on the plains could be heard.

Was this what death felt like? The absence of anything? Dooku inhaled slowly, the shadows curling down like living tendrils to caress his shoulders. Muscles tensed, ears sharpened. He honed every instinct he had learned from the Jedi Order and yet could not use the Force to discern the location of his cloaked visitor.

 _Will he try to kill me? Should I still try to kill him?_

Finally, a long, low chuckle, distorted by some sort of voice synthesizer or some darker power. "And you have waited for me. I am honored."

Dooku tilted his head. The altered voice was deep, gravely, and strangely familiar in the way it twisted with faint irony on the last word. He turned at last in a graceful sweep of his fine silkweave cape. For a moment, his eyes showed him only darkness, but then a shadow moved within the shadows, and the figure of a man detached itself and approached. Dooku noticed thin, pale hands folded in front and the hint of a chin under the hood, but everything else remained concealed.

He shoved the irritation away. "Is it truly you this time?"

The figure stopped several meters away, black robes rustling in the silence. The voice did not change one iota. "You must pardon me for practicing caution, Count Dooku. Traditionally, Jedi tend to kill rather than parley with the members of our Order. I rather hope you might depart from such foolishness, but I have yet to receive any guarantee."

"And so you require us to meet on my homeworld. If anything should go amiss, questions will far doubly hard upon me. You plan well."

The man laughed. "We are in this together, Count. After all, is that not what you wished?"

Dooku took a deep breath and blew it out softly. "It is _still_ my wish."

The Darkness focused on him, sidled up to him, and pressed against him. He swallowed back the bile and let it move closer. As abruptly as it materialized, it dissipated. The figure unclasped its hands and drew them gently up to its chest, as if leisurely studying the manicured nails. "So it would appear." The hood shifted. "Why?"

Dooku managed to find his voice. "Why?"

Was that flash of white a smile under the hood? "Don't be coy, Count Dooku. We all have reasons for the actions we take, the alliances we strive to form. Intent cannot be underestimated. I would like to hear yours."

It was simultaneously a polite request and deadly threat, and Dooku reached for the curved handle of his lightsaber in an automatic reaction, but he managed to straighten his hands at his sides instead. He noted how the figure tensed in response. "You know I became disillusioned with the Order of the Jedi," he started slowly.

"You were discontented with the political corruption of the Republic and the Jedi Order's refusal to put a stop to it," the man nodded. "Your public protests have made that much common knowledge."

Dooku ignored the gentle barb. "My misgivings are shared by many beings of high influence in the Republic, foremost among them a man I have come to greatly admire."

"Have you?" There it was, the deceptively light feint, the innocuous inquiry. This Sith made every conversation a duel of words and inflections and consequences. Dooku felt as unprepared as a fresh-faced youngling. Even now his soul dangled over some indeterminate chasm.

"We have agreed that the Republic must be broken in order to be made whole once more."

"Forged anew."

"Yes. And for such an accomplishment, we need allies capable of swaying events in our favor."

"And so you come to me."

Dooku knew it was not a question, and he nodded slightly. The other man, for he was reasonably sure this was a human or something very related, stepped closer. The temperature dropped as he did, Dooku suppressing a shudder of discomfort. He looked into the hood and noticed a faint golden glow.

Experiencing a surge of boldness, Dooku said, "The events that have taken place in the Republic these last several decades, they all indicate a high level of coordination and single-minded purpose, one that no Hutt or crime syndicate could ever hope to achieve."

"Is that so?" the man hummed softly and walked past Dooku in a whisper of robes to stand at the edge of the forest, peering out into the small meadow below. He reminded Dooku of some ancient monarch gazing down in contentment on his domain.

But this was Serenno, and it belonged to Dooku, and so he retorted, "Am I wrong?"

The other did not reply for the longest time, and Dooku began to wonder if he had caused offense. Would this slippery apparition simply disappear into the night, leaving him nothing for his efforts? He pushed down the indignant anger.

"No, you are not wrong."

Dooku began to relax. Now they could begin to bargain. Now, the playing field would be leveled. Now -

"Not in your observations. But your reason for coming to me stinks of insincerity." The Sith Lord turned back toward him, revealing a fraction more of his face with a sharp upward jerk of his chin. "If we are to join our forces, Count, then we simply must be honest with each other."

Dooku shook his head. "I've told you the truth. We need your assistance to wipe away the foul corruption that permeates the galaxy. We… I am prepared to offer-"

A pale hand slashed up in warning, and Dooku stopped. The voice became softer, more sibilant, almost a purr of poisoned amusement. "Yet that is not why _you_ have come to _me."_

He pauses. "I don't know what you mean…"

"I think you do."

A small hole opened in his chest, and he knew of what the other spoke. How did this Sith see through him so clearly, as though the former Jedi master possessed only a rudimentary knowledge of shielding? In the darkest parts of night, Dooku could barely admit the truth to himself, let alone any other. The nights when he lay awake, pondering the future of the Republic and knowing in his heart of hearts that he was destined for greater glory than the Jedi Order had ever offered him.

Knowing that he could be great and terrible, and that the galaxy deserved to worship at his feet.

Thin lips writhed back from sharp, moonlit white teeth, the voice dropping to a guttural hiss. "Yessss, you know what you want, Count. I daresay you have always known, though you have not always been free to claim it."

"You think to know my thoughts?" Dooku growled and stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated by the smaller man. The Sith did not back away even as the Count came to tower over him, and the smile widened, though some dark art still hid the other features from the Jedi's searching gaze.

"There is no need to read your mind, Count Dooku, when your thoughts are so transparent. Long have I watched you, and I have seen your desire to set right the wrongs in this galaxy. Beginning with the wrongs done to _you_."

As though the words opened some floodgate in his mind, Dooku found himself swimming through a sea of shadowy images. The past unraveled in his mind, the betrayals, the slights, the cowardice… He watched the faces of his enemies slide by, the mocking laughter in their eyes. He deserved so much more than this. And now, perhaps, this demon, this nightmare, this _Sith_ , might be able to bring him into his own. He was not entirely repelled at the thought.

"You seek power, Count," the other said quietly. "You seek control over your life and those who would stand in your way. By all means, remake the Republic, but remake it in your image, if that is what you desire."

"My desire…"

"Desire is a gateway to power. You must want what you need before you can hope to acquire it. You must focus inwardly, Count, you must _know_ yourself before you can know and rule the galaxy with true wisdom. Ambition, greed, the dogmatic Jedi mock such pursuits and in doing so they stunt their power and their own wretched lives. But you… you need not be limited by such pettiness."

Dooku heard every word, and even though they were anathema to everything he had ever been taught, they made beautiful, wonderful sense. The words called to him with a siren melody. Still, he resisted, but it was token at best. He wanted this…

He looked up, eyes burning with his disdain. "You are wise, Sith Lord, but how can I be assured that your own ambition will not drive a blade between my shoulders when I am no longer useful to you?"

The other paused, perhaps in genuine surprise, before a small laugh escaped him. "A master killing the apprentice? Of course, the Jedi would want you thinking that we eat our young as well… No matter. No, Count, it would be foolish of me to destroy my own apprentice in the absence of betrayal. You know there can only be two Sith, one to embody power and the other to crave it."

"I've heard that before, in the Archives," Dooku admitted.

"In olden days, we tore each other to shreds for the promise, the mere hint, of power, but those days are long over. The Sith, unlike the Jedi, have evolved, Count. We have grown. We are not the mindless warriors of legend. You might find the face of the Sith in a starship engineer, a cleric, a banker… even a politician," he chuckled, and the sound stirred some memory in Dooku's captivated mind.

"You and I, Count, we have seen a good number of days in this Republic. I think a partnership would serve us both well. Learn from me, and I will share the knowledge of the Sith Order with you. Join me, and you will be able to make the galaxy pure once more."

Dooku's mouth had gone dry. "Will you make me both judge and jury over the Republic?"

"I can make you whatever you like," the shadow said. "If that is your wish."

"Will you teach me all that you know?"

The night quirked a small smile. "In time and through me, you will come to understand every fundamental truth of this universe, Count, I can promise you that."

He swallowed. "Then what must I do?"

"You must pledge yourself to the Order of the Sith Lords."

There it was, the curtain call, the final stage of his previous life. He stood at the precipice, and every nerve screamed at him to jump headlong into the heady chaos. Somewhere underneath was the order he desired, the power he knew he was strong enough to wield. But still, something nagged at his mind. He needed to know, no, he _wanted_ to know who stood before him.

He began slowly, "You said we must be honest with each other."

"So I did," the other nodded.

"Then be honest with me. Show me your true face, so that I may more fully understand."

The shadow laughed. "Then see, and be satisfied, Count Dooku." His pale hands rose to the edge of the hood and slid it back, and Dooku's heart thumped twice in his chest and nearly stopped. Did this Sith aim to mock him, or did the patrician features of the Republic's Supreme Chancellor truly look up at him in this moment?

He stared into the golden eyes that hovered over the prominent nose, so different from the watery blue that captivated the attention of trillions around the galaxy. The cold smirk, sitting so alien on a face that normally showed only kind benevolence. Even a politician…Dooku remembered the wry words, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place with frightening intensity. Suddenly, he was not surprised anymore.

Suddenly, he was impressed. He met the other's fiery gaze, felt the flames bleeding into his own eyes as he remembered the conversation with the new Chancellor only months ago. His voice stayed perfectly steady as he responded, "Indeed, you _have_ changed, and I am satisfied."

"Then kneel."

And he did. 

**OOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 **I like writing Count Dooku and Palpatine (don't know if I'm any good at it, but I enjoy it), and I've always imagined that Dooku was just as arrogant as Palpatine in his own way. He just wasn't as good a schemer. I recently read Yoda: Dark Rendezvous in its entirety, and though it's not one of my favorite EU novels, I like some of the stuff they did with Dooku. They really brought out his sense of betrayal and wounded pride, and we all know pride goes before a fall (to the Dark Side). Feel free to leave a review! I love 'em!**


	7. Break Me: Darth Vader

.

For my crazy friend Darth Videtur:

 **Drabble Challenge: Palpatine/Darth Vader**

 **Theme: Break Me**

 **Verse: Movies/Clone Wars/Canon/Legends-EU**

 **Timeframe: Early Empire Era**

"Is… regret an emotion that the Sith are allowed to feel, Master?"

The question catches Sidious by surprise, first because it comes during the deep cycle of their joint meditation, and second, because the emotion in question is one he personally never experiences.

They are seated in the small, cool chamber across from each other in the standard poses of meditation. The lights are dimmed low, the Dark Side strong and covetous in this place.

He lifts one weathered brow to the question but otherwise remains still. "Do you still remember my teachings, before the birth of our Empire, Lord Vader?"

Vader's mask tilts down. "You taught me many things in that time, Master." As if it were so far away and not a mere space of time…

"Of course," he nods. "Recall then, our discussion on the nature of the differences between Jedi and Sith. Of the power Sith have over Jedi, who fear to experience the passion of the Dark Side."

"Yes, my master," Vader's breath remains steady, but Sidious senses the impatience in him. The younger man has never been a knowledge seeker, and this glaring personality flaw has left him missing the point again.

He waits in silence, sickly golden eyes never leaving his apprentice.

Vader's monstrous form shifts, then settles. He realizes now that his master is displeased. The stillness he adopts must strain at the joints where flesh and metal meet, but he makes no more attempts. Sidious makes no attempt to spare him. The empty air becomes stifling.

Finally, satisfied, Sidious continues his thoughts. "The spectrum of experience, Lord Vader. Joy to despair. Life to death. A Sith does not fear these things, and in fact embraces every aspect of it. We do not fear our emotions. We use them, much as we use everything else around us to bring ourselves where we must be."

Vader's respirator clicks evenly into the silence.

Sidious sighs. "The Jedi deconstructed you worse than you thought, Lord Vader. Rules, expectations, destiny. They did their utmost to turn you into something… inhuman. But they failed, did they not?"

He releases a memory of his own, of Senator Padme Amidala young and beautiful, the perfect bait to dangle in front of a confused young man. For that is what his apprentice still is, as evidenced by his amusing little question.

He feels Vader latch on to the memory like a drowning man, before Sidious looks at him and Vader reluctantly lets it dissipate into the nothingness it always was.

Sidious smiles with no intention to comfort. "To be human is to dwell with emotion. Emotions are not forbidden us, Lord Vader. You loved her once." _Once. Now your soul will forever dwell in darkness, where her spirit, if it even still exists, will never dare to tread. I would hardly call that regrettable._

Vader looks to the floor, and when he speaks his voice gives nothing away. "So it is permissible." Vader's mask is inscrutable, but as ever Sidious sees through the flimsy barriers and into his apprentice's soul. He still pines after her, looking for some external confirmation of his internal misery, Sidious notes, faint disgust curling his upper lip.

If Vader seeks his blessing in this matter, he will wait a long time.

Sidious rises in a swift and graceful movement that belies his frail outward appearance. A touch of the Force prompts his apprentice to lumber to his feet. "Permissible is far from recommended, Lord Vader. The emotion of regret is weakness and will not serve you well in this time. It can drive away your focus and throw you at the mercy of the past. You and I, we have the future to look to."

"Of course, Master." The reply is too rote, too automatic.

So Sidious presses him, touching his shoulder in a warped parody of their days in the Chancellor's office, not so long ago. "The past holds only dead Jedi, thanks in large part to you, my friend."

Vader stiffens at the memories his master's words have stirred. Looking up at his protégé, Sidious is reminded of himself long ago, when the tall old Muun stood over him on the freezing jagged peaks and smiled cruelly down. " _Tell me again…"_

He pushes against the other Sith in the eddies of the Force, faintly concerned by the rigid set of the broad shoulders. "Regret is an emotion of the past, so let your regret turn to curiosity, the sickness in your heart to hunger. The future is for us, the living Sith."

"Yes, Master," Vader murmurs as much as his brutal vocoder can match his old voice; it is a broken parody instead.

Sidious glances sharply at his apprentice, probing for the cracks in the dark energy. There is no light of the Force here, only a simmering bloody swirl of shade. Satisfied, he decides to end the meditation early with a carefully pointed barb and one last friendly pat on the armored shoulder. "You are young, Lord Vader, and already filled with so much regret. This should not be. You must remind yourself that all was for the best…even her."

"… _I can't have your will tempered by feelings of regret or compassion…"_

Vader does not, will not reply to the taunt, bowing his dark head, and Sidious ignores the small rebellion. Give it time, and the young fool will forget. He begins to walk from the chambers, feeling the massive presence of his apprentice faithfully at his right shoulder, the steady hiss of the respirator. The intermediary doors slice open, allowing the two to return to the Palace Core.

As they walk quietly through the silent halls, he is not entirely surprised when Vader eventually renews the issue. "I am honored by your teachings, of course, my Master. You speak with wisdom." Sidious ignores the flattery and waits for the rest.

"Have you also ever had cause to… regret?" Vader is hesitant, as if finally fearing that he has over-stepped his bounds as the learner, but Sidious can tell: Vader has not asked the question. A boy, desperate for affection and confirmation, has asked, a boy who should have been destroyed long ago but is yet tangled in the dark mind of his apprentice.

"Regret?" Sidious growls into the pregnant silence.

Vader's fear grows. Sidious absently thinks Vader will need to see that the boy dies soon, whatever is left of him.

"Forgive me, Master. I misspoke," Vader rumbles at last.

Sidious does not take note of the apology, for his mind begins to drift. Screams of decades past waft faintly over the Force. His voice echoes in the small hallway, bereft of anger and soft and cold as freshly fallen snow. "Me? No, Lord Vader, I've had none." With the Empire a reality, the galaxy at his feet, and Lord Vader bound to his fate, the Emperor feels only the long awaited rush of simple, glorious power and the ever present edge of hunger, gnawing at him for more.

He can regret nothing.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **The two quotes in italics come from the Darth Plagueis novel, in which Plagueis attempts to rip out any lingering regrets Palpatine had over his family's deaths. I've always been fascinated by that and other hints in the novel.**

 **Read and review! I'd love to hear your thoughts.**


	8. Drink Me: Mace Windu

**.**

For the fantastic RKB, the recommendation of a drunk Palpatine and Mace Windu was too good to pass up.

 **Short Story Challenge: Palpatine and Mace Windu**

 **Theme: Drink Me**

 **Verse: Movies/Legends-Canon**

 **Timeframe: Between the Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones, before the Clone Wars**

Palpatine stared down at the drink in the senator's furry hand and pondered the many strange pitfalls of the diplomatic stage. Refuse the drink, and he risked serious offense to the ruling family, whose members hovered on the edges of their thrones just beyond the towering senator's turned back. Take the drink, and he would be forced to appear intoxicated due to the known extreme potency of the liquor.

The chamber stayed silent as the cup hovered before him, then he lifted his blue eyes to King Grakchawwaa and smiled. The genial expression remained fixed to his face as he took the tall cup in hand and lifted it in acknowledgement to the massive Wookie monarch.

The king tilted his shaggy head and barked, pleased, as the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic tipped the cup back and took a long drink, ringed at a respectful distance by half a dozen of his red-robed guards.

Beside him, the protocol droid rotated its dark head and intoned, "King Grakchawwaa welcomes you gladly to Kashyyyk and hopes that the ensuing conversation will be beneficial to all."

Palpatine barely held back a grimace of disgust as the fungus-based accarrgm slid like molten fire down his throat. Under his confident smile, he gritted his teeth. Through his regular practice of the Sith alchemical arts, he faced no obstacle other than the drink's discomforting heat. However, the Wookie council and the Jedi master at his side could not be made aware of this.

He knew he had an hour at most before his best acting would be required, so he suppressed a hoarse cough and handed the cup to Master Windu. They shared a brief and mutual look of resignation before the Korun master took a deep draught as well.

The Wookies showed surprising purpose in this strange ritual that dated back thousands of years. They believed that an inebriated being held no malevolent secrets, and thus could be trusted in the process of forging alliances and friendships. One had to drink with a Wookie to gain a Wookie's confidence.

Windu had loathed the idea, respectfully arguing against their participation ever since leaving Coruscant. Palpatine bore his complaints with infinite patience, explaining the need to impress upon the Wookies the seriousness of the coming dissension with Count Dooku and his ilk. Already, he revealed, his intelligence agents possessed evidence that Dooku sought an alliance with Kashyyyk and its outlying moons. The need for securing Kashyyyk's loyalty to the Republic was imperative.

Windu folded at last, though he protested anew when he was instructed that he could not use the Force to purge his system of the alcohol's effects, or he would risk derailing the talks before they began.

"They may not look it," Palpatine had cheerfully informed him, inwardly delighting in Windu's indignant expression, "but Wookies are by and by a sensitive people. Such an action would indicate that you are unwilling to share your trust with them."

And so the Jedi had capitulated at last, with only a stern and foreboding, "I have a bad feeling about this."

In the present, the Wookie senator now took the cup back and carried it to King Grakchawwaa, who drained it to the bottom and released a low roar of approval. His family members carried the howl for several more minutes, then all stood together.

One of the guards beckoned them forward, to a smaller room adjoining the throne chambers. Here, the souls of all would be revealed, or so the Wookies thought. Only the king, the chancellor, and the Jedi master entered with Palpatine's protocol droid, the door sealing behind them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

His thoughts were drifting to the more macabre with time.

That was the first sign that something had gone wrong.

Sitting next to the stern Jedi master and across from the king, he'd put on a grand show of slow inebriation, until he realized with discomfort that his performance was only partially acting. Some unknown element of the powerful accarrgm had managed to override his preparations from the night before, and he found himself in an alarming position on the edge of drunkenness.

He also found himself growing progressively quieter as the meeting wore on, half afraid of what he might say at any moment to the irritating pests around him. He allowed Mace Windu to carry most of the conversation with Grakchawwaa and the protocol droid, chiming in with an occasional hearty encouragement or entreaty but shoving equally dark and sarcastic thoughts below the surface at the same time. Damage control.

Mace Windu struggled with his own challenges, his stern nature and uncompromising views slowly unfolding to reveal a gentler version. His hard brow line had softened, and he studied both the king and the chancellor openly, and sometimes the protocol droid as well. (Protocol droids were not usually capable of displaying nervousness, but this one had mastered an impressive mimicry over the course of the meeting.) Windu's words came slowly, with great weight behind each thought. Clearly, he loved the Republic, and he wanted them to feel the same dedication to the "herd."

Their goal to convince Grakchawwaa to come to the side of the Republic in the case of war faded into the background as the Wookie king skillfully redirected the conversation time and time again. Palpatine knew what he was doing, knew they were being set at ease only to be exposed and studied at leisure.

He watched as the furry monarch pressed Mace Windu into accepting another glass of wine, a gentler potion than the accarrgm but still outrageously strong. Of course, coming into this diplomatic mission, he had foreseen that the Wookie king would resist a clear commitment. He would require a full and detailed courting before agreeing to serve them, and perhaps a tragic situation or two. Lord Sidious would need to speak with Dooku before too long.

After nearly half a standard hour of Palpatine biting his tongue and Mace elaborating on the joys of herd kinship, the Wookie king rose and bid his esteemed guests a good evening. Both Palpatine and Mace Windu rose with difficulty and followed the Wookie sentries to the guest chambers, a long series of rooms ranging from entire dining halls to individual bedrooms and baths. The whole organic complex was tightly secured by clone commandos and the Red Guard, every entrance monitored and sealed against intruders.

There would be more talking tomorrow. Leaving his guards at the entrance, Palpatine browsed down the long, dimly lit hallway, Windu stumping along beside. The Jedi master still held a half-full glass of wine in his left hand. "Doesn't he know we have the best interests of the Wookies in mind?" The Jedi asked, forlorn and unimpressed with the progress they had made. "The herd must stay together."

"I'm sure he does," Palpatine nodded, sick to death of the 'herd' and feeling that his smile had become rather stuck on by now. "But you know, I suppose Count Dooku is rather talented in the persuasive arts."

"You do?" Windu's eyebrows lifted high in befuddlement.

Palpatine worried for a moment before his confidence returned. "I would say so, based on the holofeeds he's been producing lately. More and more star systems appear to be drawn to him of late."

Windu stopped at the edge of a window overlooking the earthy courtyard in the fork of the massive tree below, took a sip from his cup, his previous resistance to the alcohol forgotten. "Didn't you speak with him before you became Chancellor?"

"Often," Palpatine admitted after a long pause. "But our talks tended toward the more philosophical. We stayed away from arguing too much politics, as you might expect." Mostly true, the philosophy was one of the aspects that he most enjoyed about his elderly apprentice.

"Hm," Windu hummed, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "I used to admire him, you know, like I admire you."

That was news to him. The Jedi admired him…? How interesting. "Me? Really."

Windu turned unsteadily away from the window. "Yes, you know how to get things done for the Republic. Your office isn't extravagant, and unlike most of the…politicians I know," and here his voice dipped even lower with ill-disguised disgust, "you don't engage in the more questionable activities of the Senate."

Palpatine grinned. "Oh, those…"

Windu grimaced. "Yes, those."

"I can see how Jedi sensibilities might be offended," Palpatine carefully placed one shiny black boot in front of the other, picking his way down the long hall, which seemed to sway from side to side. Weren't Wookie treehouses supposed to be more secure than this? Behind him, he could hear Windu following. _Go home. You're drunk._ "Master Windu…

With little warning, the Jedi Master appeared at his left side. Even intoxicated, the Jedi were light on their feet. "Yes, Chancellor?"

"He won't give in easily."

Windu shook his shiny head. "We just need time. You'll talk him around. Tell him about the herd."

"I daresay he's already heard a fair bit about that," Palpatine blinked several times. Where was this sudden surge of confidence in the Chancellor of the Republic coming from? The lights flickered, or perhaps that was the alcohol making itself known. It was getting worse, he could feel the slow ooze of indifferent laziness setting in.

And he really was very tired of hearing Windu's drunken bleating about the sanctity of the Republic and the dedication each world carried to it. He wanted to tell the Council member exactly where he could stuff his beloved theories -

Oh. Not good.

Windu glanced at him curiously when his jaw snapped shut, and he spun on his heel to continue walking, nearly spinning himself straight into the nearest wall. Blasted equilibrium. See if he came back to this allergic fuzzball of a planet again...

Windu walked at his side and continued to wax philosophical in a way the Jedi Master would never do if sober. He talked of the holofeeds, how Dooku wasn't nearly the political idealist he thought he was, how Palpatine could lead the Republic back to the Golden Age – Ha! As if – how the Jedi were at his service in his selfless pursuit of justice and unity, and on. And on. And on. How long could a single hallway be?

Really rather sickening, the amount of sentimental mush for the Republic coming out of the man's mouth. Palpatine could count on one hand the number of times he had been well and truly drunk, and he knew his patience was close to running out. When Windu began to expound on the benefits of an austere existence, like the lifestyle exemplified by the Chancellor's office back on Coruscant, Palpatine's left eye twitched.

He rounded on the oblivious Jedi when they reached the door to the Master's living quarters.

"You know," Palpatine felt his words slurring together slightly, but he couldn't quite care, "you don't have to be drunk. You can do that Force…thing." He waved one hand vaguely, faintly surprised to discover that his eloquent vocabulary was rapidly disintegrating. And why on Korriban was he giving the Jedi master advice?

Mace Windu must have wondered the same. He stared at him blankly. "The what?"

He pointed at the lightsaber on Windu's belt. "The Force?"

By the Old Sith Empire, the Wookies liked it warm in their dwellings! He pulled quietly at his high, tight collar as Windu kept staring at him.

Suddenly, the Jedi master started. "The Force! I have the Force." A childlike expression of wonder crossed his stern features. "I'm a Jedi."

Palpatine barely suppressed an insane urge to cackle. He was sure the malevolence would be quite impossible to hide. "Yesss, yes you are. And I am…am…certain that I should take my leave before we say something we might both regret."

 _Like how I want to decorate this hallway with your internal organs. Your eyes would look lovely on the ceiling, and I do enjoy a crimson wallpaper now and then._ He coughed to camouflage the dark joy that bubbled up in his throat.

Windu was still staring at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Chancellor, I thought you were making a very bad mistake when you accepted this invitation, but now I see." He stopped.

"See what?" It was Palpatine's turn to be confused, and highly disturbed by that smile.

Windu leaned close, the accarrgm on his breath almost overpowering. "Everything," the Jedi master breathed. Then he rocked back on his booted feet. "Everything, the universe, the Force, we are all one." Was that a tear in his dark eye? _No, please not that…_ "The ultimate herd… By the Force, we're all one, Chancellor," and abruptly he was reaching out and catching the politician up in a fierce hug.

The six gates of Chaos!

Palpatine finally managed to squirm loose, shuddering with the disgustingly light aftereffects of Windu's drunken benevolence. He turned the Jedi by the shoulders and pushed him firmly through the door of his quarters. "Whatever you say, Master Jedi. Just get some rest, for all our sakes."

Windu stumbled inside without protest, the door swishing shut behind him, and Palpatine sagged against it momentarily. He ought to be more alarmed that his alchemy had not accounted for all the effects of the alcohol. He ought to return to his quarters and purge his own system with his newly gained knowledge.

He ought to follow up on the insights of the conversation with King Grakchawwaa…

But he was so warm, and the door felt incredibly comfortable, and he really was quite tired after all. He would stay only a moment longer, then he would move along.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Force was his ally in many ways, Mace Windu reflected the next morning as he washed his hands and face in the wooden serving bowl. Perhaps the greatest service it would lend him today was a masking dullness over the headache that threatened to split his skull. He felt like a Padawan again, and half feared that Master Yoda would appear in the doorway with a disapproving smirk.

How embarrassing for himself, and potentially the Jedi Council, if word of this fiasco got out. He could not even remember how he had arrived at his suite the night before.

He dried his hands and moved to the door. He would need to locate the Chancellor and discuss the disastrous diplomatic situation of yesterday. It swished open, and he nearly fell on top of his quarry, the leader of the free worlds lying in a boneless pile of expensive veda cloth and shimmersilk, fast asleep.

Palpatine groaned as Mace's boot caught him in the ribs.

"Chancellor!" Horrified, Mace Windu reached down and helped the older man to his feet. "Are you all right?"

Palpatine blinked against the morning light. "What do they put in that drink?" he grumbled, squinting and wincing. He eyed the Jedi master with something akin to suspicion. "You're looking none the worse for wear."

"The Force is my ally," Mace told him, wondering what it might be like to face the world when Force-blind, as Palpatine was. Perhaps it took a strange sort of courage of its own.

"And a powerful ally it appears to be," the Chancellor muttered, shuttering his eyes from the morning light with a pale hand. "You were right. This _was_ a mistake. If King Grakchawwaa continues to waffle after this, I'll not be held responsible for my actions," but he smiled briefly to show that his claim held no weight. "Not a word of this to anyone, Master Windu, do I have your assurance?"

"I serve at the pleasure of the Chancellor," Mace bowed his head, solemn and courteous. He watched the Chancellor tenderly weave his way down the hallway to his own quarters, every step cautiously taken. Not a word, Mace nodded, but the memory of this moment might bring a smile now and then, when no one else could see him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **When RKB suggested this, I thought immediately of the rituals and traditions that our own world leaders participate in when they visit other nations (sometimes quite undignified according to the homebase culture), and I imagined that much the same happens in the GFFA. Being the leader of the Republic, Palpatine no doubt experiences his fair share of awkward rituals and presentations.**

 **Also, in the Shatterpoint novel set during the Clone Wars, Mace Windu is practically a Palpatine fan-boy, so when he's drunk a bit of that slips out. Seriously, check it out, Mace is all impressed and even thinks Palpatine would have made a "fine Jedi" and admits that he admires him. Poor clueless Mace. :)**

 **Apologies for any typos or errors within. Leave a review if you would like. :)**


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